It has been a month since the accident. Four weeks of sleepless nights and overpowering guilt. There were days when he prayed for his own death, stuttering though the litany, enveloped by feelings of shame, cowardice and utter anguish. The few times he did manage to fall asleep, he’d awake cursing his existence.
He could vividly picture the front of his car, crash into the figure. That fatal thud haunted his days and ravaged his nights. He had cried, yelled, broken things but no power on earth could rectify that disastrous night. He screamed the words if only countless times in his head. If only he hadn’t gone to that damn party, if only he hadn’t had so much to drink, if only he had left a few minutes later, if only had taken a taxi, if only, if only…..
He had passed by her house an endless number of times and tonight he decided to ring the bell with his bloodstained hands.
Tonight he’d tell his sister that he was the drunk driver who had killed her husband.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction